


Slow, Love, Slow

by OneofWebs



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ballet, Dancing, Established Relationship, Human AU, M/M, Piano, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:39:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Simon is a ballet dancer; Markus plays the piano for him, whenever he's available, whenever he can. Often, practice is cut short so they can dance together, instead.





	Slow, Love, Slow

**Author's Note:**

> Someone in my simkus discord server wanted Markus and Simon dancing so, being who I am, I had to deliver. There's not actually that much dancing, but I'm going to ignore that for the time being and pretend it still counts. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.
> 
> Also, if anyone's curious, [this is the song the title goes with.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6l4H689FtM)  
> 

The melody was in perfect 3/4 time, in a long, drawn out sort of way that still held a beat to it when Simon's shoes clicked along the studio floor. With calculated steps, ever so placed with such precision, the turn of his hips when he pulled up a leg and twirled. The fall back of his head when he moved, like water come to life, how he flowed in time with the music. Perfect 3/4 time, eyes closed. Each step along with the notes, he felt it pulse up through his legs in a slow and sensual pull, leading him into the next move. Another, choreographed placement, pressing into the hardwood floors and turning once more. The music played on, each pluck of the keys.

Music, just as calculated and precise; Markus played. He swayed against the keys with every stroke, pressing down with earnest. Heavy, hard handed, into each key like he meant it, and the sound the old, grand piano produced was impeccable. Echoing off the walls and ringing in his ears. He knew the song by heart now and didn't have to look at the keys. Didn't have to look at the sheet music set out in a long line across the lip of the piano. He just closed his eyes and played. Played, and only peeked a glance every so often to watch Simon in the mirrors.

Simon, who jumped and turned in the air, pointed toes, and landed perfectly into a pirouette. Markus pressed harder at the keys, watching Simon's every trained and fluent movement. He was flexible, so, so flexible, and kicked up his leg, almost vertically, when Markus hit the next series of hard, quick notes. The tempo increased, and Simon didn't miss a beat. Five turns, in rapid succession, panting and lips parted. There was sweat beading around his forehead as he pressed forward, waited for the next command, and Markus provided it without hesitation. The crescendo of the piece. Markus pressed in with his whole body, fingers ghosting along the keys and he played, played until he was looking up and Simon was standing still, red faced and panting in the middle of the studio. The music stopped with him.

"Did something happen? Did you hurt yourself—or miss a step—" Markus was seconds away from leaving his seat, to go to Simon, who only shook his head.

"Dance with me, Markus," Simon worked out, like a prayer, between his heavy breath and half lidded eyes. "Dance with me."

"Ah… You know I don't dance, Simon," he leaned over just slightly, to be able to make proper eye contact. To watch the drop of sweat roll down along his skin to where the neck of his skin tight shirt started.

"You've done it before. Please," Simon took a few steps forward, until he hit the piano and could lean against it. Up close, he was positively glistening.

"Who's going to play if I'm dancing?" Markus cocked an eyebrow, and Simon let out a little laugh.

"We don't need music," he insisted, and held out his hand. Markus sighed, defeated without a battle, and let Simon yank him out onto the studio floor.

"Besides, most of the dancers practice to recorded music," Simon pressed, like it meant something, and cupped their hands together in the air. "I don't need a live performance."

"Most dancers aren't dating Markus Manfred," Markus whispered, leaned in close, and felt bold enough to drop one of his hands to press it into Simon's waist. A proper waltz, not one for children. Because, Markus, did in fact, dance.

This time, there was no music, just the press of skin as Markus wrapped his other hand around the side of Simon's neck, pressed their foreheads together, and Simon gripped at his shoulders. It started as a sway, until suddenly there was music and Markus was pulling Simon into the dance. Perfect 3/4 time, perfect steps, against each other like there was nothing else in the world. Markus' hips pressed forward and Simon was there to meet him, eyes closed and lips parted. Concentration etched into his brows as they spun around the dance floor. One spin, two, and Markus grabbed Simon's hand to let him go, but not too far. Just arm's length, then yanked him back.

Simon stopped, abruptly, his back now to Markus' chest and their hands still folded together. He leaned his head to the side, rested against Markus' shoulder and they swayed. Markus wrapped his arm around Simon, taking Simon's hand with him and pressing it into his chest, fingers intertwined. They stayed like that, listening to the silent music in perfect 3/4 beat. The warmth enough to make Simon shiver, pressing closer to Markus in a quiet attempt to find more of it—and Markus reciprocated. Pressed closer, into Simon's backside, his head to lean against Simon's. Markus let a hand wander, away from their hold, and along Simon's arm. Over his shoulder, where he spent careful time to touch along the creases of his neck, and then down over the smooth lines of his arm. Over, then down along his side, and Simon kept his smile to himself.

"Ticklish," he reminded, breathless.

Markus hummed, but didn't stop. He continued down, to Simon's hip, and Simon reacted appropriately. They shifted their weight, together, and Simon leaned farther into Markus. With Markus' help, fingers painting along his thigh, Simon raised up his leg. Raised it as high as he could, Markus' hand on the underside of his thigh now, steadying him, pressing his fingers into every right little spot. Simon's mouth dropped open, his eyelids dropping, as he watched Markus push his leg higher. Slow. Intentional. With sweet little touches as Markus' hand slid down. It was always like this—if Markus helped Simon stretch. Just a little more than necessary, just enough that Simon's face went red.

"Markus—"

Hand, stopped, and Markus laughed. He pressed a kiss into Simon's forehead: "Sorry. I got carried away," he muttered.

Simon broke off into a breathless laugh and dropped his leg. He was still breathing a little too heavy, a little too red in the face, a little too weak in the knees. He let Markus keep him standing, with arms now wrapped tightly around his waist. They stood like that for a long moment, Simon's eyes closed and nose pressed into Markus' neck, until he could forget that he was supposed to be practicing. He had a recital at the end of the week.

"Will you be there for Saturday?" he managed to mutter out. Markus was swaying them side to side again, holding tighter at the sound of the question than he had been previously.

"I will. I'm cutting it close, but hopefully everything will fall into place." Markus had his own dealings. He was, after all, Markus Manfred—the big shot pianist, and Simon never stopped giving him grief for it. They both traveled, a lot, and rarely together. But, it made moments like this all the more important. Simon hummed and pressed the smallest kiss into the only part of Markus' neck he could reach.

"I'll be back by Wednesday," Markus whispered.

"Wednesday, then."

"Wednesday."

Simon's eyes drifted shut after that. To the sound of the music nobody but them could hear.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!  
> [Check Out My Tumblr If You Want To See More](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> 


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